


here's to the damned, to the lost and forgotten

by oathsworn (onelastchence)



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: M/M, and sit in the winter cold because they're Smart Kids, blanktara deal with being subbed out for thalssom, pairing is super squint and you'll see it, platonic more than romantic tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 11:59:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13704033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onelastchence/pseuds/oathsworn
Summary: When you think Park "Untara" Yeujin, you don't immediately think SK Telecom T1. And maybe, that's how it was meant to be, after all.





	here's to the damned, to the lost and forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> i originally began this fic before spring split started, and it was supposed to be a lot more hopeful than this. but then procrastination hit, time time dragged on, blanktara were subbed out for thalssom, and here we are.
> 
> thank you to angel for the beta!
> 
> title taken from kelly clarkson's [people like us](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWbMz_aBlMU). this song - and by extension, the fic itself - was introduced to me when marin wouldn't stop playing it day after day after day, because the man never shuffles his damn playlist, so this sadness is his fault.

SK Telecom T1 is not the team that anyone would have thought of when you said the name Park ‘Untara’ Yeujin to them. The struggling toplaner of CJ Entus, who was defensive in his playstyle, who was neither the laning monster that Duke was nor the expert teleport user MaRin had been heralded to be, who was not the all rounded team fighter Impact had been nor the highly mechanically skilled player Huni was.

 

Yeujin was just, that. He was just Yeujin.

 

He had worked his hardest, in Spring. He hadn’t had a team, had been unemployed at the young age of 21. Every game, he threw himself desperately into. If he managed to get one account, two, and another, multiple accounts into Challenger, a team would definitely have to notice, right? Even if it wasn’t an LCK team, maybe an overseas team would pick him up.

 

Then SKT had called, and Yeujin’s life is thrown into a chaos of tests, training, scrims, fighting tooth and nail for a starter spot the same way he had the year previous. Seunghoon was nothing like Sangmyeon hyung, not a renowned hyung that he had to respect, but a friend that he could joke around with.

 

Seunghoon, however, like Sangmyeon hyung, had been considered to be a much better toplaner than him. His playstyle, while aggressive in solo queue, doesn’t translate on to the big - and more important - stage. It’s frustrating, watching hours and hours of experience go down the drain because he can’t perform to the level that he needed to.

 

The first time that Yeujin finds pride in what he does is three weeks into his career on SKT. The Afreeca Freecs are no easy opponent, and that, coupled with the fact that they’re the supposed weakness of SKT, makes the burden on his shoulders that much heavier. Game 2 goes about as well as he could have asked for it to, but Game 3 is when he finally takes a deep breath and tells himself that, yes, he could do this.

 

The solo kill against MaRin is gratifying, a boost of confidence he knew he sorely needed but had no clue where to get from. There’s a part of him that rejoices, crowing with pride at taking down the man that was once known as the best toplaner in the world. When he won Worlds, Yeujin had been watching back in China, Sungu at his side, the both of them wondering what it would be like, standing on that stage, kissing that trophy.

 

Sungu had gone on to kiss that trophy; Yeujin had gotten relegated.

 

Untara didn’t feel any jealousy, no. Untara was bright, and cheerful. Untara wore ‘I love Saipan’ shirts and laughed on stream, played Illaoi multiple times and lost all the games, swore to win a single game on her before giving up after a huge losing streak. Untara doesn’t shower, doesn’t wash his hair, doesn’t have a girlfriend. Untara’s training room smells, Untara takes teasing with a smile on his face and fires back with twice the venom.

 

Yeujin can’t say the same.

 

Yeujin had had to bite down on his lips to stop himself from spitting something hurtful through the phone when Sungu had called him, ecstatic, after his win. Yeujin had had to swallow the sour lump in his throat to prevent the tears from coming up and overwhelming him, wondering what went wrong in the year after he told himself he would work his hardest.

 

And yet, even after that kill, even after taking down the Worlds MVP, he hadn’t managed to win a single tournament. Summer went to Longzhu, and Worlds to Samsung, and Yeujin had let himself and his team down in the former, and completely left out in the latter. Whether it be a lack of skills, like the online boards were tittering about, or a lack of international experience, Yeujin didn’t know.

 

What Yeujin _did_ know was the disappointment he felt forming in his chest, so similar to the feeling of overwhelming desperation when his CJ Entus lost turret after turret, kill after kill, in the relegation tournament so many months ago. Yeujin knew the waves that threatened to pull him down into the waters, to drown him.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Yeujin doesn’t have to turn, already recognizing the voice. “Pondering retirement.”

 

Sungu raises one eyebrow at him, dark eyes sharp and knowing. It’s so different from how he usually looks, like a lost puppy, that it’s disconcerting to people who don’t know him well. Yeujin knows, though. Yeujin’s known him for years, knows all his ins and outs, knows him better than he knows himself. “You signed a contract two months ago.”

 

Yeujin sighs, curled up where he is on the balcony. It’s cold, snowing, and it’s ridiculously stupid of him to be out here in only his shirt and pyjama pants, even with the blanket wrapped around him. Sungu seems to be thinking the same, because the younger boy is scowling at him. “I’m getting too old for this, Sungu,” He says, exaggerating. “Kwonhyuk’s already taken over for me. Soon I’ll fade into irrelevance and become a truck driver.”

 

“I came here to talk to Yeujin,” Sungu snaps, in one of his punishing, impatient moods that happens more often than people know. “Not to the personality you created as Untara.”

 

Immediately sobering up, Yeujin straightens up and looks at Sungu. The boy is young, two years younger than him, but they might as well be the same age with the way they act around each other. Back when he had been Sungu’s age, they had both been in China, in a country they knew nothing about, where the language was incomprehensible and the culture mind boggling. It seems so far away.

 

“What if SKT doesn’t need me?” Yeujin whispers, afraid. “What if Kwonhyuk is more than enough?”

 

Sungu seems to sober up at that, and he sits himself down next to Yeujin. He doesn’t say anything at first, merely getting into a fight with Yeujin over the thin blanket, complaining about the cold and how it was Yeujin’s fault he was out here in the first place.

 

“I thought a lot about that too, last year,” Sungu says, after a couple moments of silence during which they sit under the blanket, freezing their asses off, but too lazy and too unwilling to move. “Especially after Spring finals and MSI. I thought that SKT didn’t need me. That Wangho would go on to lead the team to Worlds and further on.” Sungu laughs, here, a little self deprecatingly. “I never got to play, and I was already considering moving to another team then.”

 

Yeujin looks at Sungu in shock; They had talked, during the Spring split when Yeujin was unemployed, and while Yeujin had been a little disappointed that he hadn’t gotten to watch Sungu play in too many games, he hadn’t thought that Sungu had gone as far as to think about a switch in teams.

 

“But I didn’t,” Sungu continues, turning to look at Yeujin. “And I was subbed in. I was useful to SKT, hyung, and even if we didn’t go on to win the Cup, at least I felt like I was needed. And you were, too, weren’t you, hyung? You were subbed in in Summer, when it seemed like everyone and their grandmother was clamouring for Seunghoon. You helped us get as far as we did, didn’t you?”

 

Yeujin stays silent for a while, just taking Sungu’s words in. Yes, he had thought about it that way before, but never really been able to convince himself that he was a vital part of SKT, someone who the team couldn’t do without. Even now, the two of them had been replaced with Kwonhyuk and Beomchan, the two rookies starting over them.

 

It hurt. It stung like no other, having Kwonhyuk start instead of him. It brings back the pain and memories of feeling helpless, of having to fight for his chance to start, of being absolutely fucking _useless_.

 

“You can’t tell me that you don’t feel like that, now, though,” Yeujin states. States, not asks, because Yeujin knows Sungu, knows that despite the cheerful disposition the younger boy carries himself with, Sungu is more emotional and prone to breaking down than most people expect. “Seeing Beomchan start over you.”

 

Sungu doesn’t reply immediately, and Yeujin hadn’t expected him to. The boy pulls his knees to his chest and rests his chin on them. “Beomchan is doing well,” Sungu replies, first, voice soft and tinged with pain. “I wasn’t.”

 

“You worked hard, though, didn’t you?” Yeujin continues. There had been a note of desperation in Sungu’s voice that no one but him would have noticed. Jaewan, perhaps, on a good day, but only Yeujin is well versed enough to catch it every time. He knows what it means, knows that Sungu is holding his tears in, that he just needs a small push to let it all out.

 

Yeujin had seen Sungu like this only once before. It had been during Spring season, 2 years ago, when Sungu had lost game after game with SKT, eerily similar to their situation now. Sungu had been on the receiving end of death threats, of harsh criticism and relentless hate, and Yeujin had let him cry into his shoulder for hours.

 

Sungu gives him the stink eye, knowing exactly what he’s thinking. “Not this time, asshole, I’m not quite at that level of desperation yet,” He says, and Yeujin bursts into a cackling laughter. Sungu smiles, then, beams all the way up to his eyes, and Yeujin feels something in him shift, settle, then _click_ into place. Something like happiness, something like the feeling of coming home.

 

“Well,” Sungu starts again, stretching luxuriously. “Either we become the Closers duo of SKT, or we fade into irrelevance and become truck drivers together, hyung.” There’s a teasing glint in his eye that Yeujin recognizes, one that had been absent since the beginning of their losing streak, one that Yeujin had dearly missed, even if he would never admit it. “Let’s hope that it’s the former.”

 

The both of them remain silent for some time, then, the tension around them having dissipated. It’s just them, again, for now, just Park Yeujin and Kang Sungu, from before all of this, well, _this_ , before all of the stress and expectations, the world weighing down on their shoulders and pulling them further and further, until they fell onto their knees, crushed under the weight.

 

“Hey, hyung,” Sungu is the one who breaks the silence. “No matter what happens, we’ll always stay together, right?”

 

Yeujin closes his eyes, smiles, and stands up, effectively stealing the blankets away from Sungu. The younger boy squawks at the sudden blast of cold around him, scrabbling to his feet and chasing after Yeujin as the older boy saunters back into the warmth of the apartment.

 

It’s testament to how long they’ve been together that Sungu doesn’t need Yeujin to answer; he already knows.

**Author's Note:**

> once a part of sk telecom t1, always a part of sk telecom t1.


End file.
